Residual Burn (Redwood Ridge Book 4)

by Kelly Moran

  She smiled, taking in the space now that the event was starting. The committee had been using the Botanical Gardens as a venue for almost two years. One wall was entirely made of glass and led to the solarium, the opposite wall holding a small stage and a corner bar. Wood beam rafters ran the length of the hall and twinkle lights hung from them like raining stars. Several round tables had been placed throughout the room with white tablecloths. The centerpieces differed per section and followed the theme. Some were fireman hats, others an axe or hose, and a couple had trucks. All of them had an open top hydrant on display to compliment the other pieces with red cinnamon candies inside. The backdrop to the stage held a white sheet where a projector played an endless loop of a firewall.

  That last part had been her idea. It looked awesome and she was darn proud of herself for thinking of it.

  Each committee member had a job. Ella’s was to fill in wherever needed. The check-in desk was manned by two people, the donation tables by three others, and one was talking to the wait staff, seemingly giving directions if her hand gestures were any indication. That left just the Battleaxes unaccounted for.

  She’d planned on mustering the courage to say something to them about their little matchmaking scheme and how off-base they were, but she still hadn’t figured out the right approach. Not that she wasn’t flattered, but her and Jason? That was about as likely as discovering Elvis with Amelia Earhart living in sin together in the city of Atlantis where flying pigs shared sky space with dragons.

  Since she didn’t see the ladies in question and everyone else appeared fine, she went to the bar to get a drink before asking if anyone needed help.

  An hour later, the hall was at max capacity and, for some strange reason, no one required her assistance. She’d ventured from station to station often, but everybody kept telling her they were fine. Feeling useless, she stood along the wall in the far corner, drink in hand and clutch purse under her arm, watching people. She was the only committee member not doing her part, and it wasn’t for a lack of effort. Fifteen minutes ago, she thought she’d relieve someone at the donation table and give them a break since it was the busiest area, but they’d turned her away.

  She hadn’t spotted the mayor yet. Rosa and Gayle were bringing donations up on stage to announce the winners soon before the auction began. They hadn’t wanted her help, either. If she hadn’t committed to the ball and been dedicated to the cause, she’d consider leaving. The table décor was getting more interest and was significantly more useful than her.

  Townsfolk passed by, mingling and chatting, giggling and drinking or eating hors d'oeuvres. No one noticed her at all. Not a glance her way or nod of acknowledgement or a wave hello. What the heck was she even doing here, other than impersonating living wall art?

  Her stomach cramped and her eyes burned. She wasn’t sure why she was upset. In truth, most of the time, she preferred going unnoticed, especially in a crowd this size. Still, she was this close to needing a trip to the restroom to collect herself.

  Instead, she took a sip from her drink to tamper her emotions and cut off impending tears before they could form.

  “Hello, Ella.”

  The liquid rerouted halfway down her throat and she choked. Coughing violently, she faced the man behind the lazy drawl.

  Grin at full wattage, Jason took the glass from her before she spilled it. “Drinking problem?”

  “Apparently.” She coughed a few more times and cleared her throat. “I’m sorry. You startled me.”

  “My bad.” His grin amped to just south of wicked. “Unless the hard stuff is to blame for your jumpiness? Maybe cut back on the…” He sniffed her glass and reared. “Apple juice?”

  “Yes. I don’t drink alcohol often.” It mixed poorly with her anti-anxiety meds she took as needed when overwhelmed.

  “Huh. Okay.” He pointed at her. “You know, you’re just feeding into the proper school teacher cliché here. You were already in dangerous territory with the sweet, naïve act.”

  Her polite smile landed somewhere near her knees on a sheer drop chasing after her stomach. As if she needed the sexiest man in the Ridge to relay her level of boringness. Why did he bother striking up conversation if he found her dull? “It’s not an act. This is who I am, and it’s not nice to make fun of me.”

  His expression shifted from playful to contrite in a blink. “Hey, I was just kidding.” He ducked his face closer when she tried to look away. “I’d never make fun of you. I happen to like who you are.”

  Doubt reared its head while irritation rammed her temples. She examined his features, picked at his tone, and realized…he was being genuine. Unsure what to make of that, she glanced at the rest of him.

  His tux fit his lean frame like it had been designed strictly for him. It was the reason he knew she existed and the culprit for the Battleaxes’ success in throwing them together in order to meet. It made it awfully hard to hate the garment when the sight of him in it fluttered her belly back into its rightful position. The man was too attractive for his own good.

  Wide shoulders.

  Narrow hips.

  Finger-combed dishwater blond waves.

  Hazel eyes framed by too-long lashes.

  Scruff on his jaw that only served to compliment his sinful mouth.

  “Perhaps a kiddie cocktail?”

  She blinked. Poop-sickle. She had no clue what he was talking about. She’d been too busy ogling to follow along. “What?”

  “Never had one? They’re good. A juice and soda combo. No alcohol. Comes with maraschino cherries and an orange wedge speared on one of those plastic sticks. It looks like a drink, but isn’t. People won’t question your beverage.”

  That would require people to actually notice her first before taking her drink choices into account. So far, he’d been the only one. Furthermore, why did he care what others thought of her? Was he embarrassed being in the presence of her vanilla lifestyle or worried her mundane existence would hurt his reputation?

  “I’ll have to try it sometime.” She took her juice from his outstretched hand and gripped the glass tightly in order not to drop it. “I’ve had alcohol before.” Fudge, no. Her lips were moving. “I don’t mind fruity drinks once in awhile. Especially the cocktails with clever names that are mortifying to order like fuzzy navels or sex on the beach.” Shut it, Ella. “The bartenders always look at me crazy. Probably wondering why someone like me would ask for those sorts of beverages.” Oh, she was making it worse. Peachy. “Not that I go to bars often. I totally don’t.” Yep. She was on a roll. Plenty of burning regrets tonight, for sure. “As a girl, on New Year’s, my aunt and uncle would buy me and my cousin a bottle of sparkling juice. You know, that fake champagne stuff?” Of course, he knew. She was such a dolt. “We’d drink it from fancy glasses and pretend we were all grown up. Never had real champagne, though, even as an adult.”

  Blessedly, he laughed, and she got it together by taking a healthy gulp of apple juice to occupy her mouth. It did zilch to cool her burning cheeks.

  “One of these days, Ella Sinclair, I’m not going to make you nervous. Whatever will I do then?”

  Dance in glee? Bark at the moon? “Start a round of applause?”

  Dang it. She slapped a hand over her face.

  He laughed again. Lower. Sexier. “You should stop doing that.”

  “Doing what?” she mumbled from behind her hand. “Babble incessantly until I want to die? I’ve tried. Trust me, it—”

  “Covering your pretty face.” Warm, firm fingers circled her wrist and he gently guided her arm down, holding it for a beat longer than necessary. Kind, impish hazel eyes met hers as if to punctuate his point before his gaze traveled over her features. A tiny wrinkle formed between his brows the longer he explored. He let out the barest of sighs and straightened, leaving her no wiser for what he discovered. “Definitely not a face you should hide.”

  Holy moly. Her heart pounded so hard, she was shocked he couldn’t hear it. She opened her
mouth to, no doubt, say something stupid, but at the squeal of a microphone, she quickly shut it again.

  He looked at Marie on stage, and Ella followed suit, breaking the strange fragmented moment.

  “Can I get the bachelors lined up over here, please?”

  He made a sound of disgust. “Still can’t believe I got roped into this.”

  “Hosed is more like it.”

  Slowly, he turned his head, a smirk curving his lips. “Hosed?”

  “Fireman term.” She shrugged. “You got hosed.”

  He laughed, short and loud, as if partly surprised and mostly amused. “Indeed.” Crossing his arms, he widened his stance. “Are going to bid on me?”

  “What? No!”

  “You wound me.” He pressed a palm to his chest in mock pain. “Why not?”

  “I’m on the committee. We’re not allowed. Besides, you said you didn’t want to date me.”

  A frown. “When did I say that?”

  “At your apartment the night we met.”

  “No. I said a thank you dinner wasn’t a date, not that I didn’t want to date you. Big difference, sweetheart.” He grinned. “Bid on me. Save me from a forced interlude with God knows who and make this worthwhile. We can hang out at my place or yours, order a pizza, and watch a movie or something.”

  The room’s temperature cranked twenty degrees. That, or her blush was full-bodied now. Either way, her head spun because… Heck. Jason Burkwell was challenging her to ask him out. Whether it was to rescue him from someone worse or that he actually wanted to spend time with her had yet to be determined. For once, her mouth didn’t know what to do.

  “Nothing to say?”

  Ah, geez. “Er, there’s still the committee. I can’t.”

  He leaned forward. “You can. Be a rebel, Ella. It’s in there somewhere, that naughty side who wants to break the rules.”

  Nope, it wasn’t. She didn’t have a naughty side and she’d never broken a rule in her life. She wouldn’t know defiance if it ran her over with a snowplow in July.

  Before she could conjure a reply, he turned on his heels and strode away, leaving her standing alone once more and contemplating what universe she’d gotten sucked into.

  Marie passed the mic to Rosa, who hyped the crowd with gyrations that were insanely uncomfortable to watch and eyebrow waggles that implied this was a strip club instead of a charity function.

  One-by-one, firefighters at Jason’s station were auctioned to the highest bidder. It was barbaric and sexist, but the guys didn’t complain during their turns. Each strutted and grinned, flexing muscles whether they had them or not, seemingly enjoying themselves.

  Ella walked between the tables, the conversation with Jason on a constant loop in her mind, and pointing out bids in case Rosa missed them with her rapid fire auctioneer impression.

  She was so royally confused. Jason had acted as if he’d wanted Ella to put her card in the mix, which was a direct contradiction to how he’d behaved the night she’d brought over his tux. Was he just messing with her or trying to avoid a shoddier rendezvous? Screwing around and being funny or literally challenging her to step up?

  Except…wait. He’d used the phrase “hang out,” not “date.” Hadn’t he? Yes. Yes, he had. In other words, he wanted her to bid on him to get him out of an engagement, only to pal around with her in their stead.

  Her shoulders sank. When push came to shove, a man like Jason went after what he wanted. He didn’t let someone else do the dirty work. If he truly wanted to date her, he would’ve come right out and asked. The absurdity of him being interested in her made her snap back to reality just as his turn arrived in the bachelor lineup.

  Last but not least.

  Catcalls and whistles raised the roof off the building. Women jumped to their feet, waving their bidding paddles while Rosa gave an introduction.

  Hands in his pockets, Jason stood next to her, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else. He rocked on his heels, head down, brows wrenched. When the bidding began, he glanced up, tracking the paddles and accompanying shouts with eyes that were vacant of their usual humor. Minutes passed, the chaos continuing, and his gaze landed on Ella’s from across the distance.

  As if she were a beacon, he held her there, watching, waiting, like he was unable to look away. After a moment, a sad, meager smile curved his lips and he nodded once. His Adam’s apple bobbed with a swallow, and he closed his eyes.

  Her heart pinched, aching behind her ribs. He despised this, and more than she’d realized. Fun-loving, charming, playboy Jason hated being put on display. It made her wonder if his good-time-guy persona had been slapped on him by others or his own self. Yesterday, she would have sworn it was the latter, but his demeanor indicated the former and he’d simply gone along for the ride. He was so outgoing and extroverted that she never would’ve guessed in a thousand years he’d be uncomfortable with or loathe attention.

  “There you are.”

  Shaken, she turned and found Marie next to her. “Hello, Mayor. Er, Jason doesn’t seem—”

  “Handsome devil, isn’t he? He’ll bring in a hefty amount for the charity.” Marie faced Ella, head tilted. “Don’t you look lovely.”

  “Thank you, but—”

  “Oh, dear. You have a string unraveling on your blouse.”

  Ella glanced down, not seeing anything. “Where?”

  “Just on the side there. Here, hold this.” Marie passed her a bidding paddle and lifted Ella’s arm. “It’s a small one, but I can probably snag it before it can undo the seam. I’m telling you, they just don’t make clothes like they used to.”

  “I suppose they don’t—”

  “Sold to number fifty-five in the back. Way to go, Ella Sinclair!”

  She jerked and looked at Rosa on the stage…to the crowd of females pivoted in their seats facing her with a mix of pissed off, disappointed, and confused expressions…to Jason and the ear-to-ear grin he flashed.

  What the heck?

  “Oh, I think I have it,” Marie murmured.

  Oh, no. Geez. No, no, no.

  Carefully, because the world might implode if she moved the slightest millimeter, Ella glanced at her raised arm, paddle number fifty-five in hand, and then at Marie ducked under the aforementioned limb. Back and forth, back and forth. Ella gawked, breath trapped in her lungs, like she could erase or alter the outcome if she merely kept swiveling her head.

  The absence of sound in the room was so deafening that the rush of blood through her eardrums became a vacuum.

  “Got it,” Marie proclaimed. “All set. Good luck on your date with Jason. Good for you, going for it.”

  This wasn’t happening. “But…but…I didn’t bid on him. You…”

  Gone. The woman was halfway to gone.

  Since it was a futile effort talking to Marie’s back while she high-tailed it away, Ella sighed and rubbed her forehead. The sneaky little wenches had planned this. She knew it!

  Pinching her lids shut, she tried to figure out what to do, and felt the eyes of everyone in town on her. Staring, glaring, judging. The pulse in her neck throbbed double-time and she couldn’t catch her breath. Buzzing sawed her ears and dizziness swamped her.

  “And you said you weren’t allowed.”

  She whipped her head up so fast, she nearly lost her balance.

  “Breaking the rules for me. I’m honored.” Phone in hand, Jason raised his brows. “Thanks for that. I gotta go. I’m on-call and just got a text alert, but we can talk about what you want to do next week.” He offered a casual wave and strode off.

  She stared after him, unable to move.

  Trembling, she risked a peek at her surroundings. Yep. Surprised stares, death glares, and judging faces. Everywhere, everywhere.

  “Ella!”

  Startled, she jumped and searched the crowd for who called her.

  Gayle waved to her by the now empty donation table. “That’ll be two-thousand dollars. You can pay here. Thanks for supporting the Red
wood Ridge Fire Station!”

  Chapter 7

  Exhausted to the bone, Jason wrenched the knob, shutting off his shower, and pulled the curtain aside to step out.

  “Son of a…” He narrowed his eyes at the tiny white furball seated on the navy bathmat. “You scared the bejezus outta me.” He was still getting used to having a roommate and… Scratch that. He’d never get used to it.

  Mew.

  “Creepy much?”

  Mew.

  “This is weird, you staring at me naked.”

  Mew.

  “Could you maybe, I don’t know, shoo or something?”

  Mew.

  He sighed. “Fine. Can I get you some snacks or something to watch the show? A beer, perhaps?” He yanked a towel from the rack and dried off, then stepped over the kitten to exit the tub. “Don’t think just because it’s daylight that means it’s playtime. It’s not. We’re going to bed.”

  Mew.

  Tiny feet padded behind him out of the bathroom and into the bedroom.

  The emergency call from last evening, which had interrupted the auction, wound up being a gas leak at a residence that took until daybreak to contain. Since he was the lucky SOB on call, he had to be back at the station at six tonight for an all-damn-nighter. Normally, he could stay home and check alerts on his phone, but one of the guys had hurt themselves climbing under the house’s crawl space and had needed thirteen stitches, which left Jason as the station’s backup.

  Yippee.

  He closed the blackout curtains and checked the time. Well, he could get a few hours of shut-eye, at least.

  Grabbing his cell off the nightstand, he searched for Ella’s number and couldn’t find it. Until he remembered his douche canoe friend had listed her under something else. He edited her contact info, switching her from My Perfect Match to her actual name, then shot off a text.

  On call overnights all week. Could you swing by after work and check on the PIMA?

  The little icon whirled and her response pinged. PIMA?

  Jason: Pain In My Ass, otherwise known as Storm.